Fanny darted toward her horse’s stall. Before she opened its gate, her eyes fell on a bush knife hanging from a nail on a post. The heavy tool leaped into her hands, and she ran with it to the cacao field beyond the barn. She gripped the handle with both fists and began swinging at the cacao saplings. Green stalks snapped. Leafy heads fell to the ground. She swung and cut and swung until her arms could not lift the scythe.
Into the sunless bush she ran, tripping and grabbing at vines as she went. Raw wails pushed up from her belly. She brushed past a tree where flying foxes hung upside down from its branches. Wings opened—whoosh—blackening the green forest air.
On the wet ground, she wrapped her arms around her middle and pressed her fingers into the flesh of her back. She rocked and rocked. Beside her, a giant moth with glowing red eyes watched. She heard the sky crack and Lafaele’s voice. The devils are fighting up in the sky.
Heavy drops of water splatted on her face, rained down on her shoulders and breast. Her dress was a cold wet skin. She stood up, shaking, and began to walk.
Ferns tangled their fronds around her ankles. Red mud sucked her feet down. Above, nodding trees groaned in the tearing wind. A snow-white owl screeched her name from a stump. Then two skulls, human, appeared on the ground with bones scattered all around.
Hervey’s tiny voice came next. Faint, sweet music. “Now, Mama.”
WHEN SHE WOKE in her own bed, it was to Belle’s voice. “Who found her?”
“Lafaele,” Louis murmured. “He went out into the forest and played his clarionette. She went to him.”
“Yes. Her feet are cut pretty badly. Lafaele bandaged her with those leaves he uses.”
“Ah, Mama,” Belle said, rubbing her mother’s still arm. “Mama, Mama …”